Blood in the Water
by doublemoth
Summary: (Bad at summaries.) Kevin turns the tables on his tormentor in a surprising way A Reverse!KevEdd drabble. Not quite romance, not quite angst. Marked Mature just to be safe, but contains no sex. Very borderline. Role Reversal/Powerplay. Bullying. Strangely manipulative Kevin. Tried very hard to keep them both in character, I hope I succeeded. I have decided to make it a full fic


I can say with the utmost clarity that I know when it started. Whatever "it" was, however, was still up in the air. It could have been anything from the vaguest intrigue to the soft flutterings of some foreign, misplaced lust. Youth was confusing that way. Nonetheless, it had surpassed perplexing and inconvenient and wandered into the realm of being mentally exhausting. There was just no fighting it.

I was attracted to the one person I could honestly say I hated.

And it was not as devastating as it should have been.

It started with the most subtle things. Just little observations. Nothing substantial in the grand scheme of things, but at the time they felt rather jarring and...oddly important. As if I would be quizzed on every tiny revelation at some later date. But that date never came, and the facts remained.

Eddward had the tiniest twinge in his left eye after reading for too long.

Eddward cut his nails into crescents, not straight across.

Eddward, unlike me, had several of the same hat. Some older and rattier, some quite new. But never without one.

Eddward crossed his ankles when he sat. Rather elegant for someone so awful, I thought.

Eddward's eyes were blue. Almost. Changing like the sea. It had never occurred to me to look so closely at the eyes that struck fear into me. But one day, pinned to my locker, heart thumping like a trapped rabbit, I just happened to...see. What might have been a whimper of defeat stopped in its tracks. And I just stared. Quietly. Intently.

And, for whatever reason, this seemed to bother Eddward. Perhaps it did not _bother_ him so much as unnerve him. He had the briefest flicker of confusion in his eyes. All I could do was stare and bask in the glory of this most insignificant of his personal details. Like the weight of knowledge had broken me. Eddward even said as much.

"I think that Pumpkin here is malfunctioning."

He then muttered something about not being sufficiently entertained, and led his gaggle of goons away. I had done something no one else had done. I had caught him off guard. And what a powerful feeling it was.

The high of gaining the upper hand did not last as long as I hoped it would. His teasing seemed to swell in response to being temporarily baffled. He was much more inclined to spontaneously appear and harass me. Much more inclined to yell sharp insults across the hallway. But the one thing that I noticed the most was the touching. For every inappropriate gesture, every wandering, groping hand that I had to deal with before, there were at least twice that afterward. He was never above a quick ass grab as I walked down the hallway, but now it seemed as if his hand lingered just a little longer, squeezed just a little harder before moving on.

But I had become immune to those predatory touches over time. I barely even jumped anymore. This time was no different. Until one day when things seemed to change. The touches were no longer sharp and sudden. No longer so rough. It was then that things took an agonizing turn.

Just as he was passing by, he would let his long, soft fingers trail along my arm. It left prickling trails all along my skin. Even through the warm wool of my sweater, I could feel it. Just toward the end of their trail, his fingertips would linger on the bare skin of my hand. My heart would just seize in my chest. And he would add insult to injury with that painfully arrogant sneer cast over his shoulder.

It was ruinous.

Almost intimate.

It bordered on terrifying.

But I was yet to receive my real shock.

I had stayed after school for club activities. Late. Alone. First mistake.

Nazz had gone home early. She had apologized profusely, and looked very worried as she looked back to tell me goodbye.

I had assumed Eddward had left, saying as I had seen the rest of his goons leave much earlier. After all, it was a Friday. The pool closed early, and everyone left campus as quickly as possible. Second mistake.

I was not paying attention. I was tired, and my vigilance was not exactly stellar after having been on campus for over ten hours. Third, and most fatal, mistake.

Like a shark smelling blood in water, he appeared behind me. As if a vast, terrible ocean had birthed him for the express purpose of preying on me. He just knew. And he was there, suddenly, dreadfully close. Before I could turn around, I felt it. Something at the small of my back. I had a moment of extreme panic as the thought of a weapon ran though my head, until I felt the warm, even spread of his fingers. He leaned his horrible mouth to my ear. I could hear and feel the wetness of his breath. The rasp of his voice before it even formed words.

"You are acting suspiciously."

It felt so strange to have him linger behind me, to have him sit in my space for so long without rough* treatment. But the strangest thing was how quickly my fear dissolved. His voice in my ear, a hot whisper of promised pursuit and intangible threat, tickled some foreign chord in me.

Thrill.

A shiver was beginning to build in my legs. Somewhere within the weeks of anticipation and worry, the horror at his growing intimacy, I had known this might happen. But I had never imagined the feelings that he would drag out of me.

His hand slid along my spine. My shoulders dipped back, just slightly. His fingers ghosted over the prominent vertebrae through my sweater, leaving sizzling trails of impossible heat. He said nothing. Just hovered near the sensitive shell of my ear, dragging those slim fingers all the way up to my shoulder blades.

He smelled like motor oil and aftershave. Like sweat and chlorine.

I shuddered. Not a shudder of disgust or revulsion. Or one of shock. This was something else. Something scarier. Dirtier. It was a slithering feeling. One I wished I could destroy with logic or reason. But there was nothing I could do.

I was excited.

I actually made a soft hiss through my teeth.

And he froze. Every part of him seemed to lock up. As if he too could not process the strangeness of the situation. He did not move in to take advantage of my vulnerability. He did not make a lewd comment or a snide remark.

For once, Eddward said absolutely nothing. And walked away. He was just as confused as I was. For once in all these years, we were on even ground.

Perhaps this was control. Mingled with the strange pull of uncertainty. Whatever it was, I could no longer hate it. It was power. Transcendence even. I had left him speechless. Imagine that.

It was the beginning of the end by that point. His attention only increased. And the intensity of my excitement boiled just under the surface, hidden by an oddly nonplussed demeanor. There was an inevitability to all of it. We were building toward a feeding frenzy. Carnage, chaos, thrashing water. And all the blissful stillness left in its wake. The nightmares of being circled endlessly by the hideous threat he presented were long gone. Replaced with the foreign flashing red of fresh blood. I was just waiting for him.

It happened in the way I planned it. I conveniently deserted my company late one afternoon. And roamed the halls. I had laid the trap. Loaded the dice. Stacked the deck. He just didn't know. I should have felt some level of disgust with myself. But all I could feel was powerful, even godlike. I let myself be lost in it. I had moved past guilt.

He appeared from a sea of shadows, but this time, I knew his every move. And I did nothing to stop him. I was pinned in no time. He wasted no moment in trying to intimidate me, as I tried my best to fake fear and shock. He stared me down. There was a silent determination in his gaze. No words, just those cold eyes heating me from the inside out. He looked angry, intense. There was a burning in his eyes that was brighter and hotter than usual.

Again, he said nothing. As if words failed him or eluded him. He just hardened his gaze.

I felt the warm weight of his hand on my stomach. Traveling further down. Trailing over the rough fabric of my pants, again dragging those unfairly delicate fingers in lewd rows over my body. He cupped me in his hand. Not unlike the indecent groin grabbing he had done in the past. But this was different. Unimaginably different.

It was _gentle._

I did not think that such a bloodthirsty creature was capable of such a thing.

He moved with deliberate, seductive movements. Dredging up all the horrid bliss I had come to accept as some deviant power game. I didn't look away from him. I looked straight into his eyes, my breath labored and my face red. My hands gained no purchase grasping at the cold metal of a locker. He gritted his teeth and squeezed me. Daring me to squirm, daring me to run, to squeal, to show any twinge of discomfort.

I would not let him win.

The warm weight of his palm and the sweet pressure of his fingers were already causing me to stiffen. It was well worth the delicious twinge of shock resurfacing in his eyes. Then, his expression softened. And he leaned in closer to my face.

"May I ask you for a kiss?"

That...was not what I was expecting. In the slightest.

"You're _asking_?"

"Yes, I am. You should appreciate the fact that I am considering your consent."

Was this a game? Was he testing my reaction, gauging my response in preparation for some reason? Had all these weeks been leading up to simply _asking _for a kiss? His advances had always been heavy-handed, sudden. No regard for my comfort. Why then did a romantic gesture, in his twisted mind, require permission? And why did I suddenly appreciate the inquiry?

Words were obscured by a cloudy desire, blurry with confusion.

I just nodded.

Even when I had him right where I wanted him, our movements were surreal. As if we were on another plane of existence, and I was watching a dream unfold from a distance. Shame and regret no longer existed. I would conquer him by dissolving into his arms. The prospect should have been mind-blowing. But there was only action. Thought had no room in our rendezvous.

It took him forever to close his eyes as he leaned in. And I refused to close mine. He gazed into me until the bitter end.

I was not expecting the tenderness I received. I had anticipated something bruising, brutal, lustful. Perhaps even desired it. But that was not what happened. The kiss was far from chaste or simple, but it was still full of softness. I was rather static at first, having worried about the need to endure a rough kiss. But the terrible fondness with which he kissed me somehow made me more comfortable.

So I did the unthinkable.

I kissed him back.

He was a magnificent kisser. Somehow I wasn't surprised. His lips were full of flickering fire and provocative motion. The way he kissed me was so deliciously human, so delightfully fragile that I almost forgot who was doing it.

Almost.

I had kissed very few people in my life. Mostly clumsy affairs that I never mentioned again. But I tried to fake experience, not wanted to be outdone. I followed his movements, trying to imitate them as well as invent my own motions. My insides swam with warmth. I became more aware of his hand pressing into me. I actually groaned. I made up for my submissive inclination by biting at his bottom lip.

I opened my eyes just in time to see his eyes widen just slightly. The shock barely lasted a second.

He grasped my wrists, and pulled them up over my head. Slow, careful, as if worried about roughness. But still fighting for power. I could not allow him to get ahead.

I didn't fight the rush that tore through me. Something about the simple act of him holding me captive with the most considerate of force excited me. And I let him know. I longed for that shocked expression. I leaned my head forward and let the tip of my tongue dance over his bottom lip. He let out a sharp startled breath.

He let me slide my tongue just past those wonderful lips. My brazen entreaty earned me a deeper, rougher kiss as he pushed me back into the locker. His mouth was so pliable, so warm. A harsh ripple of pleasure made me tremble. I was glad for the reassertion of power. I had no experience with deeper kissing. I let him take over, let him follow me down, and press his body against mine. Fire licked me up and down as I felt hard, hot flesh press into my own. He ground into me with a long groan. I thought I would fall apart at the loveliness of that sound as well as the lewd feelings that burned in my guts.

Oh God. This was beyond revenge, beyond acquiescence, beyond power games. I wanted him. Badly.

He pulled away. And looked at me with the most wonderfully weakened eyes. They were lustful, half-lidded, though still predatory and domineering. He looked so solemn. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and gently pulled my head back.

"What is this game?" His words lacked the eloquence I was used to. It was a hard, no-nonsense question.

The smirk that lit up my face was a familiar one. One I had learned from him.

"This is your game, Eddward. I'm just learning how to play." The voice was not my own. It came from my deep, insidious, licentious pit inside me. It was gravelly, rumbling, daring.

He growled. And I just smiled.

He pulled my hair back and bit into my neck. I arched my back, feeling like I would come out of my tingling skin. When he pulled away, I was panting slightly.

"Best 2 out of 3, dork." There was that tough demeanor again. But he didn't fool me. His lips were flushed, his face red, every part of him flustered. And, just like before, he walked away.

I wanted to laugh. I could feel it in my chest. A cartoonish declaration of victory rumbling to escape. But I didn't. I wiped my mouth and smiled. Watching him swagger away. I swam through shark-infested waters and survived. I had waited for years to feel so powerful. Nothing could have been so intoxicating.

I would not let him win.

I hadn't expected anything to change. I would have been a fool to think it would. I expected no softness, no mercy, no relenting in the stream of torment I had come to expect... He was just as crude, just as violent, just as unrelentingly inappropriate.

To some extent, nothing was different. But there was something about him now. An air about him that no one else seemed to detect. And if they did pick up on it, who would dare say anything? The weight of our affair was not lost on him. His eyes held a gleam that they hadn't before. They held the scar of a glorious, unexpected defeat. Perhaps even a smidgen of respect.

I dare say even fear.

How perfect.


End file.
